Downton Abbey Revisited

Downton Abbey is now ¾ of the way done, and I’m already feeling nostalgic for it. I wish it were a 12 part series, or better yet, a 26 part series like the original Forsyte Saga. When that series aired in America back in 1969, friends would join each other for tea and sherry parties and watch it all together; now, most of us catch it when we can, and usually alone.

This is not to say that I haven’t had my problems with the show. The costumes continue to be gorgeous, the period details exquisite. The whole series is lushness unlimited, inside and out Downtown Abbey. And Julian Fellowes knows how to write some tasty dialogue, especially for Maggie Smith, who sometimes makes a remark, not necessarily because her character would have done so, but because it’s good entertainment (when her American daughter-in-law proposes that Mary go to New York to find a rich husband who can save the estate, Smith quips “I don’t think things are that desperate”).

But the soap-like plot points. Oh, boy.

All classic serials use melodrama, that quintessential nineteenth-century form. And when it’s done well, it’s great fun (as in the stony characterization of Lady Dedlock in Andrew Davies’ Bleak House, or the subplot revolving around the hypervillianous Frenchman in Little Dorrit). But these two series thrived on the excesses of theatricality. Downton Abbey, on the other hand, asks to be viewed realistically.

So, how, exactly, do we take “realistically” the representation of a medical procedure wherein a man, afflicted with “dropsy,” gets stabbed in the heart with a needle and, ten seconds later, wakes up from his coma-like state smiling at his wife?

OR

The scene where a young man, who is trying to seduce one of the fair Crawley daughters, suddenly dies of a heart attack? The fact of the death is bad enough. But then, minutes later, we see his body being dragged down the stately halls of Downton Abbey by the fair daughter, a maid, and the fair daughter’s regal mother, all to avoid a scandal.


And yet, just as I was about to get really cranky with the series, a subsequent scene has Maggie Smith remark that no Englishman would dream of dying in someone else's house, especially someone he didn't know well.

In this series, as in so many classic series—beginning with The Forsyte Saga in 1967 and continuing to the present—a soap-opera plot is saved by good acting and dialogue. And whether I like it or not, I’m absolutely hooked.

P.S. Does anyone want to guess what Mr. Bates’ secret is? What is “the more” he refers to when he tells the maid who loves him, “I was married but there’s more.” Does it have to do with the war? His injury? Has he committed a crime? What does he mean when he says, “I’m not a free man?”

Downton Abbey

In a scene from the new ITV serial Downton Abbey, which began its four-episode run on MASTERPIECE last night, members of the aristocratic Crawley family sit down to tea with a middle-class lawyer and his mother. It’s an awkward situation: all rough edges, and possessed of a fiercely egalitarian spirit, the lawyer has no idea how to conduct himself in front of them or their servants. What makes the situation even more awkward is that due to the recent death of two members of the Crawley family on the Titanic, he has suddenly become the new heir to their estate, Downton Abbey.

The head of Downton Abbey, Sir Robert Crawley, is naturally dismayed at the prospect of a stranger assuming ownership of his estate. But reasonable and stout hearted, he resigns himself to it. He proposes that his new heir begin learning about the operations of the estate as soon as possible. When the lawyer explains that he has no intention of quitting his job to prepare for an event that might happen forty years from now, bewilderment registers on the face of each family member, who obviously can’t wrap their minds around the concept of choosing to work. To placate Sir Robert, the lawyer promises to learn about the estate on his evenings off. “And there’s always the weekend,” he says amiably—at which point, Robert’s mother, the Dowager Countess Violet, speaks her first line in the scene. Played by Maggie Smith (who can’t be beaten as a dowager anything), the countess asks, “And what’s a weekend?”

Written for television by Julian Fellowes, the award-winning screenwriter of Gosford Park, Downton Abbey depicts the clash between a rising middle-class and an old aristocracy, as well as the restlessness of a dying breed of British servants, on the eve of World War I. It clearly borrows much of its material from Gosford Park and Upstairs, Downstairs. But who cares? Indeed, part of the pleasure of watching this series is the cozy sense of familiarity it evokes.

Another pleasure is the strength of the characters. My favorite right now is Mr. Bates, a wounded veteran of the Boer War where he served as batman (whatever that is) to Sir Robert. Walking with a limp and a cane, Bates arrives at the estate as the new valet—and instantly causes a stir among the servants, some of whom resent such a privileged position being given to a “cripple.” Mr. Bates is dignified, quiet, and stoic. He’s also kind of sexy. Indeed, judging from all reports, he was England’s #1 UCO (Unlikely Crush Object) last year.

I also love the twists and turns in characterization. At first, Sir Robert and his three daughters seem modeled on King Lear and his daughters. I began the show thinking that the only likeable daughter, like Cordelia, was Edith Crawley. Nope. She’s a pill and a half. And Mary, who first comes across as a coldhearted bitch (sorry, but the word fits), now turns out to be rather cool. But that’s the wonderful thing so far about Downton Abbey’s characters—they’re all a little mysterious, slippery, elusive.

And, of course, a British costume drama this good must have great real estate. Downton Abbey was filmed at Highclere Castle, a country house designed by Capability Brown in high Elizabethan style. High indeed. Every room is a feast for the eyes. In one scene, Bates remarks to the footman, Thomas, about the “strange” nature of being a servant. “What do you mean?” asks Thomas. “Well, here we are with a pirate’s horde without our reach, but none of it’s ours, is it?”

The same might be said about the viewers of costume dramas such as Downton Abbey. But you’ll never hear me complaining. . .